


Flying on Fumes

by NotALemon



Series: A Two-Man, One-Angel Operation (Supernatural Rewritten) [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s01e04 Phantom Traveler, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Gabriel and Sam Winchester in Love, M/M, episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotALemon/pseuds/NotALemon
Summary: Sam chuckles. “Look, I appreciate your concern--”“Oh, I’m not concerned ‘boutyou,” Dean says. “It’syour--” Dean points at Sam-- “job to keepmy--” Dean jabs his finger at his own chest-- “ass alive, so I need you sharp.”“And it’smyjob to keepyoualive, and there only certain things that should be hard,” Gabriel says.“Seriously, are you still havin’ nightmares ‘bout--?” Dean looks at Gabriel, then the ceiling. Subtle as ever.Sam crosses the room, sits on the other bed with a heavy sigh, and hands a coffee to Dean. “Yeah. But it’s not just that. It’s everything. I just forgot, you know? This job.” Sam looks at the nightstand. “Man, it gets to you.”
Relationships: Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Series: A Two-Man, One-Angel Operation (Supernatural Rewritten) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643980
Comments: 4
Kudos: 94





	Flying on Fumes

Dean sleeps on his stomach as peacefully as possible in a shitty motel bed, the door creaking open behind him. He cracks open an eye and slips a hand beneath his pillow, reaching for a weapon. When he turns to look, there are Sam and Gabriel, carrying coffee and pastries. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Sam says brightly. He’s fully dressed and neat, obviously having been awake for a while. 

“What time is it?” Dean asks, untensing at the sight of his brother. 

“Uh, it’s about five forty-five,” Sam says. He looks out the window, then at Gabriel. 

“In the _morning_?” Dean asks. 

“It’s a _wonderful_ day out,” Gabriel adds. “Birds are chirping, the sun’s shining, people are out jogging…”

“Where does the day go?” Dean mutters. He rolls over and props himself up to glare at Gabriel, something along the lines of _stupid angel who doesn’t have to sleep_. Then he looks at Sam. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours,” Sam says, looking idly at the ground..

“Liar.” Dean slides to the end of the bed, lazily, and sits on the edge, smirking up at Sam accusingly. “‘Cuz I was up at three, and you and your angel were watchin’ a George Foreman infomercial.”

“Hey, what can I say? It’s riveting TV.” Sam shrugs, still holding his coffee. 

“When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

“I don’t know, a little while, I guess. It’s not a big deal.” He glances at Gabriel, who’s standing by the table, arms crossed and staring at him.

“Yeah, it is.”

Sam chuckles. “Look, I appreciate your concern--”

“Oh, I’m not concerned ‘bout _you_ ,” Dean says. “It’s _your_ \--” Dean points at Sam-- “job to keep _my_ \--” Dean jabs his finger at his own chest-- “ass alive, so I need you sharp.”

“And it’s _my_ job to keep _you_ alive, and there only certain things that should be hard,” Gabriel says. 

Sam shrugs.

“Seriously, are you still havin’ nightmares ‘bout--?” Dean looks at Gabriel, then the ceiling. Subtle as ever.

Sam crosses the room, sits on the other bed with a heavy sigh, and hands a coffee to Dean. “Yeah. But it’s not just that. It’s everything. I just forgot, you know? This job.” Sam looks at the nightstand. “Man, it gets to you.”

“You can’t let it. You can’t bring it home like that.” Dean drinks from his coffee. “And can’t your _archangel_ do somethin’ to knock you out or somethin’? With his heavenly powers or somethin’?”

“Oh, I’ll _tell_ you how I knock out your brother,” Gabriel says, the sound of wings filling the empty space he occupied seconds ago and announcing his appearance to Sam’s side. Dean jumps, just a little. 

“If you talk about that, I won’t talk to _you_ for a week,” Sam threatens.

“Can’t you just Vulcan nerve pinch him or somethin’?”

Gabriel sighs dramatically. “Oh, Sammoose, I _must_ prove your brother wrong! It’s the only purpose in my heavenly life!” He leans against Sam’s side. “And I don’t feel comfy about, ah, _Vulcan nerve pinching_ someone who doesn’t wanna be nerve pinched. I have _some_ morals.”

“Surprising,” Dean mutters.

“Don’t bite the hand that bought you pastries,” Gabriel says, shaking the box. 

“All this, it… never keeps you up at night?” Sam asks, skeptical. 

Dean shakes his head. 

“Never?” Sam continues, eyebrows raised. “You’re never afraid?”

“No, not really,” Dean says, casually.

Gabriel reaches over to Dean’s pillow and chucks it across the room, pulling out a large hunting knife that he holds up as evidence. Sam gives Dean a look about as pointed as the knife.

Dean snatches the knife back from him. “That’s not fear,” Dean reasons. “That is precaution.”

“Alright, whatever. I’m too tired to argue,” Sam mutters, looking down at his hands. Gabriel snaps up a pastry and hands it to him. Sam leans against his side and tears pieces off the pastry, eating it slowly.

Dean’s phone rings. He picks it up and looks at Sam and Gabriel, confused, before answering. “Hello?”

“Dean, it’s, uh, Jerry Panowski. You and your dad helped me out a couple years back.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Dean says. “Up it Kittanning, Pennsylvania. The poltergeist thing.” He smiles at the memory, then gets serious. “It’s not back, is it?”

“No. No.” Jerry barks out a short laugh. “Thank god, no. But it’s something else, and… uh, I think it could be a lot worse,” Jerry says.

“What is it?” 

“Can we talk in person?”

Dean eyes Sam.

-

Inside an aircraft hangar, surrounded by parts and sliding separators, Jerry walks with the Winchesters and Gabriel. With his checked shirt and tie, he looks like the type of professional Sam had alway wanted to be. “Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing _you_ guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out.” He looks at Gabriel. “He never mentioned--?”

“Ah, no, I’m not family,” Gabriel says, casually. “I’m--” he looks at Sam, questioning. 

“He’s my… my boyfriend,” Sam says. He rubs the back of his neck. “Gabriel.”

Dean gives Jerry a slightly threatening look, daring him to say something rude.

“It was a poltergeist?” Sam asks, carrying on as usual.

“ _Poltergeist_? Man, I loved that movie,” a man says as they walk by.

“Hey, nobody’s talking to you. Keep walking,” Jerry calls after him. “Damn right it was a poltergeist. Practically tore our house apart.” He turns to Dean, still walking. “Tell you something, if it wasn’t for you and your dad, I probably wouldn’t be alive.” Jerry takes a left around an engine, then addresses Sam. “Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?”

“Yeah, I was. I’m-- _we’re_ \-- taking some time off.”

“Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time.”

Dean glances at Sam.

“He did?” Sam asks. Gabriel smiles at him and mouths _duh_.

“Yeah, you bet he did,” Jerry says. “Oh, hey, you know, I tried to get ahold of him, but I couldn’t,” Jerry says to Dean. “How’s he doing, anyway?”

“He’s, um... wrapped up in a job right now,” Dean says, not as smoothly as he thinks. 

Jerry turns around to face the group, walking backwards. “Well, we’re missing the old man, but we get Sam and, uh, Gabriel. Even trade, huh?” He turns back around with a smile. 

Dean laughs.

“No, not by a long shot,” Sam says.

“Dunno. Sounds pretty even to me,” Gabriel smirks.

“I got something I want you guys to hear.” Jerry leads them into his office. As he begins to set things up, Sam and Dean sit. Gabriel stands behind Sam. “I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley.” He puts a CD into a drive. “Normally, I wouldn’t have access to this. It’s the cockpit recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.”

The recording plays over the speakers, scratchy with what sounds like static. “Mayday! Mayday! Repeat!” a man yells in distress through the static. “This is United Britania 2485-- immediate instruction help! United Britanis 2485, I copy your message-- May be experiencing some mechanical failure--” there’s a loud whooshing sound that couldn’t possibly be from any living thing, and likely isn’t from the airplane either, then blank silence. 

Sam gives Dean an inquisitive look. Dean shrugs. They both look to Jerry. Gabriel rests his hands on the back of Sam’s chair and leans forward. 

“Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they’re saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He’s a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh… well, he’s pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault,” Jerry says.

“You don’t think it was.” Sam says. 

“No, I don’t,” Jerry says.

“Jerry, we’re gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors,” Sam says, counting on his fingers. 

“And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?” Dean asks.

“The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage… fellas, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse,” Jerry says, seriously. “No way I’ve got that kind of clearance.”

Dean frowns, looking at Sam and Gabriel. “No problem.”

-

Sam and Gabriel wait in the car outside a Copy Jack. Sam’s migrated his way to the back seat, sitting so close to Gabriel that Gabriel might as well sit on Sam’s lap. While they’re not actively making out, their rustled hair and Gabriel’s smug smirk says that they were not too long ago.

Dean exits the Copy Jack and ogles an attractive woman as she enters.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi,” Dean says.

Sam cranks down the window. “You’ve been in there forever.”

Dean holds up three IDs. “You can’t rush perfection,” he says.

“Homeland Security?” Sam asks, taking one of the IDs from Dean. “That’s pretty illegal, even for us.” He checks out the ID, admiring his brother’s handiwork. He can say a lot of things about Dean (a _lot_ ), but the man can forge an impressive amount of documents.

“Yeah, well, it’s somethin’ new. You know? People haven’t seen in a thousand times.” Dean throws the other ID at Gabriel, who catches it easily, then makes his way around the front of the car. “Also, if you guys screwed in my car…” he threatens.

“We could’ve, with how long you took,” Gabriel mutters. Sam shakes his head.

“He’s joking. We wouldn’t have.”

“Damn straight you wouldn’t,” Dean says, settling into the driver’s seat and shutting the door. “Alright, Sammy. What you got?”

“Well, there’s definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder,” Sam informs him. He takes out his laptop.

“Yeah?” Dean asks.

“Listen.” Sam turns his laptop to face Dean, then plays the recording, edited to pull a scratchy voice from the crackling background. 

“No survivors!” it screeches.

Dean raises his eyebrows. “‘No survivors’?” he asks. “What’s that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.”

“Got me,” Sam admits. He looks to Gabriel.

“So, what are you thinkin’? A haunted flight?” Dean asks.

“There’s a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Dean says.

“Or remember flight 401?”

“Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in some other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights,” Dean says. He looks at Gabriel in the rearview, almost suspicious. “Yeah.” 

“Maybe we got a similar deal,” Sam suggests.

“Oh, you lookin’ at me ‘cuz I can fly? ‘Look at this angel, he can fly, so he’s _gotta_ be an expert’.” Gabriel crosses his arms petulantly and glares at Dean in the rearview.

Dean shakes his head at Gabriel. “Seriously. It’s not even ‘bout you datin’ a man. It’s just-- why _this_ guy?” He turns to face Sam.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam says, pointedly. “We’re on a hunt.”

“Alright,” Dean says, turning around. “So, survivors. Which one do you wanna talk to first?”

“Third on the list: Max Jaffey,” Sam says.

“Why him?” Dean asks, still eyeing Gabriel in the rearview. 

“Well, for one, he’s from around here. And two, if anyone saw anything weird, _he_ did,” Sam says. He lays his hand on Gabriel’s knee. 

“What makes you say that?” Dean asks, looking over his shoulder once more, meeting Sam’s eyes. 

“Well, I spoke to his mother, and she told me where to find him.”

-

At the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital, there’s a beautiful, green garden. This is where the Winchesters and Gabriel are, walking as Max uses a cane to talk alongside them.

“I don’t understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security,” Max says.

“Right,” Dean says. “Some new information has come up. So if you could just answer a couple questions…”

Sam picks up where Dean’s left off. “Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything… unusual?”

“Like what?” Max asks. He has dark hair and a t-shirt on, not exactly looking like he saw some sort of terrible, deeply-scarring event.

“Strange lights, uh, weird noises, maybe.”

“Voices,” Gabriel suggests.

Max gives Dean a bit of a weird look. “No, nothing,” he says.

They sit at a table.

“Mr. Joffey--”

“Jaffey,” Max corrects, a little incredulous. 

“ _Jaffey_ ,” Dean says. “You checked yourself in here, right?”

Max nods in response, looking a little uncomfortable with the situation. 

“Can I ask why?” Dean asks.

“I was a little stressed,” Max says, irate. I survived a plane crash.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean says. “And that’s what terrified you? That’s what you were afraid of?”

“I… I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“See, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what,” Dean says, eyes flicking to Sam and Gabriel.

“No. No. I was… delusional. Seeing things.”

“He was seeing things,” Dean says to Sam and Gabriel. Sam gives him a particularly annoyed bitchface, cocking his head to the side for a moment.

“It’s okay,” Sam says, gentle and placating as always. “Then just tell us what you _thought_ you saw, please.”

Max thinks about it for a moment, dredging up the memories. “There was… this-- man,” Max says, sounding unsure of himself, of what he saw. “And, uh, he had these… eyes-- these, uh… _black_ eyes. And I saw him-- or _thought_ I saw him--” Max cuts himself off, staring blankly at the table, face pained.

Gabriel’s eyes flash with understanding.

“What?” Dean asks.

Max sighs. “He opened the emergency exit,” he says, voice wavering. He looks at Dean, almost as if for reassurance. “But that’s… that’s impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There’s something like two tons of pressure on that door,” Max says, subtly begging for some sort of answer.

“Yeah,” Dean says, quietly.

“This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?”

“Like a dream, but in real life.” Gabriel doesn’t have Sam’s patience, or his kind tone. He sounds more like he's trying to prod Max into admitting something than anything else. “Or-- was he more solid?”

“What are you guys, nuts?” Max asks, incredulous. He looks at Sam and Gabriel like they’re the ones who should be at the psychiatric hospital instead of him.

Sam tilts his head questioningly.

“He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”

Sam looks at Gabriel, then at Dean.

-

Dean pulls the Impala up in front of a house, idling in front of it. 

“So here we are. George Phelps, seat 20C,” Sam announces. He looks at the house out the window.

Dean puts it in park and cuts the engine. “Hmm,” he says. “Man, I don’t care how strong you are.” He exits the car, waiting for Sam and Gabriel. “Even yoked up on PCP or somethin’, no way you can open up an emergency door during a flight.” He rests his arms on top of the Impala, leaning against it.

“Not if you’re human,” Sam says, glancing at Gabriel, then the house again. A car drives behind him. He turns to face Dean. “But maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe, in human form.” 

Dean looks at Gabriel. 

Gabriel rests his hands on his hips and shrugs. “Dunno. _You_ tell _me_.”

“Must you be so incorrigible?” Sam asks, nudging Gabriel’s side a little. 

“‘Cuz watching you use that big brain of yours really gets me going, cupcake,” Gabriel teases. “The second I learned you were Pre-Law-- damn, you really won my heart. All that, _and_ brains? Oh, Sammy, you know how to make angels _fall_.” He grins at Sam, tone joking and light.

“Dude, I am _right_ here,” Dean says, disgusted. He pushes past them. “Let’s go into the creature’s lair,” he mutters.

“You can go into _my_ lair anytime,” Gabriel says to Sam, far louder than he needs to just to upset Dean.

-

Sam and Dean sit across from Mrs. Phelps in her comfortable, clean living room. She has the couch, they have the chairs, and Gabriel stands behind Sam once more. Sam looks at a framed photograph of a man, George. 

Sam picks up the photograph and looks at him. “This is your late husband?” he asks, quietly.

Mrs. Phelps nods. “Yes, that was my George,” Mrs. Phelps says. Her voice is quiet and strained with grief. 

Sam returns the photograph to the table.

“And you said he was a… dentist?” Dean asks.

“Mm-hm. He was headed to ao convention in Denver.” 

Dean looks at Sam. 

“Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that…” Mrs. Phelps looks at the table, swallowing down tears.

Gabriel nods sympathetically, still waiting for the boys to reach the conclusion he already has. Ah, humans.

“How long were you married?” Sam asks.

“Thirteen years,” Mrs. Phelps responds with a bittersweet smile. That’s the thing about survivors: they live with the memories. Memories are painful. 

“In all that time, did you ever notice anything… strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?”

Mrs. Phelps considers it. “Well…” she says, thoughtfully, while Dean perks up in his chair, “uh, he had acid reflux, if that’s what you mean.”

Dean and Sam look at each other.

-

When the group exits the house later, walking down the stairs to the street, Dean shakes his head. The house is in a beautiful picture of suburbia.

“I mean it goes without saying. It just doesn’t make any sense,” Sam says. 

“A middle-aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified. You know what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage,” Dean says. He stops in front of the Impala.

“Okay,” Sam says. “But if we’re gonna go on that route, we’d better look the part.”

-

Mort’s for Style allows Sam and Dean to buy crisp black suits and white shirts for much more money than Dean’s willing to spend on them. In them, the Winchester brothers look slightly more professional than normal. Sam looks more at ease than Dean does.

Sam adjusts his collar. Gabriel stares at him, smirking.

“Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers,” Dean complains.

“No, you don’t,” Sam says, placating at first before his mouth turns up into a smile. “You look more like a… seventh-grader at his first dance.”

Gabriel laughs at that. “He’s right, though. Did you ask her out, or did she ask you?”

“Hey, screw you, feathers.” Dean looks down at himself. “I hate this thing.”

“Hey. You want into that warehouse or not?” Sam asks.

-

By the time they enter the warehouse, Gabriel’s snapped himself into a plain suit, reigning in his ogling just enough to not make it obvious. He flashes his badge at the Security Guard like the Winchesters do, and is let in alongside them. They walk amongst the plane wreckage. Dean pulls a device from his pocket and puts earbuds in. Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

“What is that?” Sam asks.

“It’s an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies,” Dean explains.

“Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?” Sam stops walking.

“D’you need, like, _tapes_ to work it, or do the ghosts just play your old-man tunes?” Gabriel snarks.

“ _I_ listen to real music, not that EMD nightclub… screamin’-cat crap _you_ think’s music,” Dean snaps. “And that’s what I made it out of. It’s homemade,” Dean says. He grins at his own handiwork.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Sam dismisses.

Dean’s grin slides away. He runs the EMF meter over a piece of the wreckage, yellow dust sprinkled over the metal, and the meter spikes with a whine.

“Check out the emergency door handle,” he says, turning off the EMF meter and sliding it into his pocket. He scratches at the yellow dust, some of it sticking to his hand like powdered sugar. Unlike powdered sugar, Dean doesn’t immediately go to lick it from his hands. “What is this stuff?”

“One way to find out.” Sam scrapes some of the dust off the metal with a pocket knife and into a bag.

“It’s EDM,” Gabriel says, abruptly.

Dean looks at the powder on his hands, then Gabriel. “What?”

“The music. EDM, Dean-O. It’s good, if you--” he looks at the door. 

“What, he’s a _dog_ now? Are you smellin’ somethin’, or--?”

“Yeah, so…” Gabriel turns back to them. “The _real_ Homeland Security’s just arrived, and your asses are gonna be grass if you don’t get movin’, like, _now_.” 

The doors bust open as several men, some in suits and some not, enter the room, guns drawn. Gabriel grabs Sam’s hand and Dean’s forearm and, with the gentle sound of wings flapping, he and the Winchesters disappear from the room. Outside the warehouse, Sam and Dean blink in the sudden sunlight. Sirens sound.

“Get going, boys,” Gabriel says, disappearing and appearing outside a gate.

Dean takes off his suit jacket and throws it over the barbed wire up top, climbing over without ripping up his hands. Sam follows him. “Well, these monkey suits do come in handy,” Dean mutters, plucking the jacket off the top of the fence. “Unlike _you_. You couldn’t just beam us up over the fence, too, or does it not do wood?” 

“I’ll _beam you up_ back into the dad-damned warehouse again if you keep _that_ up.” Gabriel takes Sam’s hand and runs off with him, Dean following after them, muttering curses.

-

Back in Jerry’s office, Sam sits in a chair while Dean and Gabriel stand. Sam’s a little disheveled, tie loosened and collar spread out over his suit jacket, while Dean’s still relatively composed. Gabriel still hasn’t snapped out of his suit, either, though he has changed the tie to a rather obnoxious pink color. 

Jerry looks at the yellow powder under a microscope, what he’s seeing replicated on a screen for the rest of the group. “Huh,” he says. “This stuff is covered in sulfur.”

“You’re sure?” Sam asks.

“Take a look for yourself,” Jerry says. He steps aside, then looks at the door when he hears loud banging and hollering from outside his office. “If you fellows will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire.”

“You effin’ piece of crap!” a man says.

Jerry leaves the office. Dean slides over to look into the microscope in his absence. “Hey, Einstein,” Jerry yells from outside the office. “Yeah, you. What the heck you doing? Put the wrench down--” 

“Hm,” Dean says. “You know, there’s not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue.” He looks from the microscope to Sam.

“Demonic possession?” Sam looks over to Gabriel to confirm his theory. Gabriel grins at him.

“It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch,” Dean says. 

“If the guy was possessed, it’s possible.” Sam looks at Gabriel.

“This goes _way _beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean, it’s one thing to possess a person, but to take down an entire airplane?” Dean asks. He straightens himself from where he was hunched over the microscope.__

__“Oh, Dean, you of all people should know that the movies don’t capture the reality,” Gabriel says, spreading his arms out._ _

__“Why the hell don’t you _tell us_ this crap when you figure it out?” Dean asks._ _

__Gabriel shrugs. “So, you knuckleheads ever heard of somethin’ like this before, or is this some brand-new type of unnatural for you?”_ _

__“Never,” Sam says._ _

__“Well, life’s all ‘bout doin’ new things, right?”_ _

__Dean gives Sam an incredulous look, once more asking the _why him?_ question. Sam shakes his head in response. _ _

__-_ _

__The motel has essentially become a lair of research, pictures and articles taped onto the walls, strewn across the beds. Sam’s looking at something on his laptop, sitting in a chair at the small kitchen table. Gabriel’s sitting in the chair next to him, one hand resting on his shoulder and the other shoveling gummy worms into his mouth. Dean’s reading something on one of the too-small beds while sitting on the other_ _

__“So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean, Christian, Native American, Hindu-- you name it,” Sam says._ _

__Gabriel hums. “Demons are some wily sons-of-bitches,” he comments._ _

__“Yeah, but none of ‘em describe anything like this,” Dean says._ _

__“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Sam says. “You see, according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease.”_ _

__“And this one causes plane crashes?” Dean asks._ _

__“The times, they are a’changin’. You either gotta change with ‘em, or you end up-- well, you end up like my siblings.” Gabriel twists a gummy worm around his finger._ _

__Dean gets up from the bed with a sigh and walks over to Sam and Gabriel. “Alright, so, what? We have a demon that’s evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?”_ _

__“Well, you don’t just get the same result with boats anymore,” Gabriel says._ _

__“Yeah. You know, who knows how many planes it’s brought down before this one?” Sam asks._ _

__Dean snorts and turns away from them._ _

__“What?” Sam asks._ _

__“I don’t know, man,” Dean says, scratching at the back of his head. “This isn’t our normal gig. I mean, demons-- they don’t want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big. And I wish Dad was here.”_ _

__Sam looks at Gabriel. “Gabe,” he says, softly, “you said that the thing that tried killing you-- you said it was a demon. Yellow-Eyes.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Gabriel replies, a little stiff._ _

__“Do you think that this demon-- would know? What Yellow-Eyes tried. Or… where he is?”_ _

__Gabriel sighs, dramatic as always. “You know, not _every_ inhuman being knows what every _other_ inhuman being is doing _all the time_.” _ _

__“Listen, we gotta know--”_ _

__Dean’s phone rings, cutting him off. He picks it up. “Hello?” he asks._ _

__“Dean, it’s Jerry.”_ _

__“Oh, hey, Jerry,” Dean says._ _

__“My pilot friend… Chuck Lambert is dead.”_ _

__Dean pauses, disbelief crossing his face. “Wha-- Jerry, I’m sorry. What happened?”_ _

__“He and his buddy went up in a small twin about an hour ago,” Jerry says. “The plane went down.”_ _

__“Where’d this happen?” Dean asks._ _

__“About sixty miles west of here, near Nazareth.”_ _

__“I’ll try to ignore the irony in that,” Dean mutters._ _

__“I’m sorry?”_ _

__“Nothing,” Dean says. “Jerry, hang in there, alright? We’ll catch up with you soon.” He hangs up._ _

__“Another crash?” Sam asks._ _

__“Yeah. Let’s go.”_ _

__“Where?” Sam asks._ _

__“Nazareth.”_ _

__The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches up in a smile._ _

__Gabriel snorts. “I went there, once. It was a shithole.”_ _

__-_ _

__A twisted mess of metal cloaked in black smoke. Two mangled corpses._ _

__-_ _

__Jerry’s looking through the microscope again._ _

__“Sulfur?” Dean asks._ _

__Jerry nods and straightens himself. He leans against the desk, facing Sam and Gabriel._ _

__“Well, that’s great,” Dean mutters. “Alright, that’s two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.”_ _

__“With all due respect to Chuck, if that’s the case, that would be the good news,” Sam says, quietly. He’s in one of his hoodies, sitting at the desk, looking at the computer sitting on it._ _

__“What’s the bad news?” Dean asks._ _

__“Chuck’s plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight. And get this, so did flight 2485.”_ _

__“Forty minutes? What does that mean?” Jerry asks._ _

__“It’s a biblical thing,” Gabriel says. “Noah’s arc? It rained for forty days. It means death. Which is always comforting.”_ _

__“I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in,” Sam says, consulting the computer._ _

__“Any survivors?” Dean asks._ _

__“No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason. On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?”_ _

__“‘No survivors’,” Dean says. He thinks for a moment. “It’s going after all the survivors. It’s tryin’ to finish the job.”_ _

__-_ _

__Dean drives along in the road in the darkness of the night, Rush quietly playing on the radio._ _

__“Really?” Sam asks, on his cell phone. “Well, thank you for taking our survey. And if you do plan to fly, please don’t forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks.” He hangs up and closes his phone. “Alright, that takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They’re not flying anytime soon.” He crosses names off a list._ _

__“So our only wildcard is the flight attendant Amanda Walker,” Dean says._ _

__“Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It’s her first night back on the job.”_ _

__“Unlucky as ever, huh?” Gabriel asks._ _

__“Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with _you_ behind the wheel.”_ _

__“Don’t drive faster than your guardian angel can fly,” Gabriel comments. He spreads out across the backseat, taking up as much space as he can._ _

__“Call Amanda’s cell phone again, see if he can’t head her off at the pass,” Dean says._ _

__“I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cell phone off.” Sam covers his face. “God, we’re never gonna make it,” he says._ _

__“If your stubborn-ass brother would let me fly you guys there, maybe you wouldn’t be no nervous.”_ _

__“There is no way in hell I’m lettin’ _you_ touch my damn car,” Dean says. “We’ll make it,” he says, full of determination as he speeds down the rural roads in the darkness._ _

__They do, amazingly. Dean parks in a parking garage and gets out of the car, ready to head off._ _

__“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sam says._ _

__Dean looks back, giving Sam a _we gotta go_ look._ _

__“Dean. We’re about to walk into an airport?” Sam says, meaningfully._ _

__Dean looks at his brother and shakes his head. Sam shakes his head back. Dean goes over to the Impala’s trunk, unlocking and opening it, then begins divesting himself of all the weapons hidden on his person, multiple knives and several small guns, throwing them into the weapons trunk._ _

__“I feel naked,” Dean announces._ _

__“Better than the real thing,” Gabriel mutters._ _

__Sam and Dean rush into the airport and Gabriel appears next to them, the flight still on the Departure board. They did make it, and weapon-free, at that. Thank God._ _

__“Right there,” Sam says, pointing at it. “They’re boarding in thirty minutes.”_ _

__“Okay,” Dean says, breathless. “We still have some cards to play. We need to find a phone.” He rushes over to a courtesy phone and picks it up._ _

__“Airport Services,” a pleasant woman says over the line._ _

__“Hi,” Dean says. “Gate thirteen.”_ _

__“Who are you calling, sir?”_ _

__“I’m tryin’ to contact an Amanda Walker. She’s a flight attendant on flight, um… flight 4-2-4.”_ _

__In the moments between when he says the number and when Amanda picks up, Dean looks like he’s about to start praying that she answers. Gabriel snorts at that._ _

__“This is Amanda Walker,” Amanda says, politely._ _

__“Miss Walker,” Dean says, putting on his professional voice, smooth and commanding. “Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital.” He ignores Sam’s _what the hell?_ expression. “We have a Karen Walker here.”_ _

__“Karen?”_ _

__“Nothin’ serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so--”_ _

__“Wa-- wait, that’s impossible. I just got off the phone with her,” Amanda says._ _

__Dean pauses. Sam shifts nervously behind him. “You what?”_ _

__“Five minutes ago,” Amanda says. “She’s at her house, cramming for a final. Who is this?”_ _

__“Uh, well… there must be some mistake,” Dean says, haltingly._ _

__“And how would you even know I was here?”_ _

__Sam goes around Dean to try listening to the conversation. Gabriel, who loves using his archangel tricks, is already listening to Dean crash and burn, shaking his head._ _

__“Is this one of Vince’s friends?”_ _

__“Guilty as charged,” Dean says, dropping the pretenses with a deprecating chuckle._ _

__“Wow,” Amanda says, unimpressed. “This is unbelievable.”_ _

__“He’s… really sorry,” Dean tries, pulling a face at the situation he’s put himself in._ _

__“Well, you tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life, okay?”_ _

__“Yes, but… he really needs to see you tonight, so--”_ _

__“No, I’m sorry. It’s too late.”_ _

__“Don’t be like that!” Dean pleads. “Come on. The guy’s a mess. Really. It’s pathetic.”_ _

__“Really?” Amanda asks, a note of hope in her voice._ _

__“Oh, yeah,” Dean says._ _

__“Look, I’ve got to go. Um… tell him to call me when I land.” She hangs up._ _

__“No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!” Dean slams the phone back onto the receiver._ _

__“Oh, you really floundered _that_ one,” Gabriel says._ _

__A voice over the intercom thanks them for flying United Britannia Airlines._ _

__“Alright, it’s time for plan B. We’re getting on that plane,” Sam says. His hands are firmly stuffed in the pockets of his Carhart._ _

__“Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second,” Dean says. He’s wide-eyed._ _

__“Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we’re right--” Sam looks around them, aware that this is an airport full of nervous travelers, and quiets his voice-- “that plane is gonna crash.”_ _

__“It’s gonna be horrific,” Gabriel adds._ _

__“So we’re getting on that plane. We need to find that demon and exorcise it. I’ll get the tickets. You just go, get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through the security. Meet us back here in five minutes.” Sam’s words are quick, the fear of all those people dying making him take control of the situation._ _

__Dean just gives him an anxious look._ _

__“Are you okay?”_ _

__Dean hesitates. “No,” he says, “not really.”_ _

__“What?” Sam asks. “What’s wrong?”_ _

__

__“Well, I kinda have this problem with, uh…” Dean makes a couple meaningless hand gestures and sighs._ _

__“Afraid of flying?” Gabriel teases. Sam holds up a halting hand._ _

__“It’s never really been an issue until now,” Dean says._ _

__“You’re joking, right?” Sam asks._ _

__“Do I look like I’m joking?” Dean asks. “Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?”_ _

__“Alright. Uh, Gabe and I will go,” he says, trying to figure out a solution._ _

__“ _What_?” Dean asks._ _

__“I’ll be fine with Gabriel. He’s an angel. So… yeah,” Sam says._ _

__“What are you, nuts?” Dean asks. “You said it yourself, the plane’s gonna crash.”_ _

__“Dean, we can do it as a group, or I can do this one with Gabriel,” Sam says, almost pleading. “I’m not seeing a third option, here.”_ _

__“Come on! Really? Man…” Dean looks like he’s going through all the stages of grief right there in the airport._ _

__-_ _

__The intercom informs the flight attendants to cross-check the doors before departure. Dean, in the aisle seat of a three-seated row, reads the safety card. Front-back. For the third time._ _

__Sam, seated in the middle, tries to calm his brother. “Just try to relax,” he suggests._ _

__Gabriel looks out the window, hand laced with Sam’s on Sam’s thigh._ _

__“Just try to shut up,” Dean snaps back._ _

__As the plane takes off, Dean jumps at all the rumbles and sounds, looking horrified that he was about to die horrifically with each passing second. He grips at the armrests. Sam smirks at Gabriel._ _

__-_ _

__Dean’s reclined in his seat, eyes squeezed shut painfully hard, humming to himself. Sam looks over._ _

__“You’re humming Metallica?”_ _

__“Calms me down,” Dean says._ _

__“Look, man, I get you’re nervous, alright? But you got to stay focused,” Sam says, in the same comforting tones he sues when talking to people who have just gone through horrific supernatural encounters._ _

__Gabriel’s leaning against Sam’s side, splitting his time between gazing out the window at the darkness around them and smirking at Dean. Since Sam turned down his suggestion of _wanna join the mile-high club?_ , he’s been a little miffed._ _

__“I mean, we got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down-- or whoever it’s possessing, anyway-- and perform a full-on exorcism,” Sam says._ _

__“Yeah, on a crowded plane. That’s gonna be easy,” Dean mutters._ _

__“Well, we _do_ have an angel.” Sam turns to smile at Gabriel. Gabriel smiles back at him. “Just take it one step at a time, alright? Now, who is it possessing?” Sam looks around at the other passengers on the plane._ _

__“It’s usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress.” Dean’s stiff as he speaks, still terrified._ _

__“Well, this _is_ Amanda’s first flight after the crash,” Sam reasons. “If I were her, I’d be pretty messed up.”_ _

__Dean turns to a blonde flight attendant walking down the aisle way. “Excuse me,” he says. “Are you Amanda?”_ _

__“No, I’m not,” she responds._ _

__“Oh, my mistake,” Dean says._ _

__“Mm-hm,” the flight attendant says politely, walking away._ _

__Dean looks to the back of the plane, spotting who he assumes to be Amanda. “Alright, well, that’s got to be Amanda back there, so I’ll go talk to her, and, uh, I’ll get a read on her mental state,” he says._ _

__“What if she’s already possessed?” Sam asks._ _

__“There’s ways to test that.” Dean reaches into his back, taking out a crushed bottle of water. “I brought holy water,” he announces._ _

__“No,” Sam says, snatching the bottle from his brother and tucking it inside his jacket. “I think we can go more subtle. If she’s possessed, she’ll flinch at the name of God.”_ _

__“Oh,” Dean says. “Nice.” He turns to leave._ _

__“Hey,” Sam says._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Say it in Latin.”_ _

__“I know,” Dean says. He turns around and takes a step._ _

__“Okay. Hey!” Sam says._ _

__“What?!” Dean turns back to Sam._ _

__“Uh, in Latin, it’s ‘Christo’,” Sam says._ _

__“That’s ‘Christ’,” Gabriel corrects._ _

__“Dude, I know! I’m not an idiot!” Dean responds. He makes his way to the back of the plane, slowly and carefully, thumping a seat once after the plane shakes._ _

__Gabriel takes that opportunity to scoot closer to Sam, cuddling up against him._ _

__“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking…” a man over the intercom begins. He mentions _turbulence_. Dean tunes him out._ _

__Dean reaches the back of the plane. Amanda’s fussing with the drink cart, adding and arranging napkins. Her blonde hair is pulled back into that perfect flight attendant bun, appearance impeccable. If they were on the ground, Dean would immediately enter flirting territory, but since they’re in what Dean believes to be a flying metal death machine, he’s a little out of his element._ _

__“Hi,” Dean says, a little uneasy._ _

__“Hi,” Amanda responds, politely. “Can I help you with something?”_ _

__

__“Oh, no. I’m just a bit of an uneasy flier. It makes me feel better to walk around a bit,” Dean says._ _

__“Oh, it happens to the best of us.”_ _

__“Of course, you being a stewardess, I guess flyin’ comes easy to you.”_ _

__Amanda laughs, stacking cups into her hand. “You’d be surprised.”_ _

__“Really? You’re a nervous flier?”_ _

__“Yeah, maybe, little bit.” Despite her words, Amanda has an easy smile on._ _

__“How is that, being a stewardess, you’re scared to fly?” Dean asks._ _

__“Kind of a long story,” Amanda says, straightening and counting napkins.._ _

__“Right,” Dean says. “I’m sorry for askin’.”_ _

__“It’s okay,” Amanda says._ _

__“You ever consider other employment?”_ _

__“No,” Amanda says, looking down at the napkins before looking up at Dean. “Look, everybody’s scared of something. I just, uh… I’m not gonna let it hold me back.”_ _

__“Huh,” Dean says, almost in admiration._ _

__“So…”_ _

__“Christo,” Dean mumbles under his breath._ _

__“I’m sorry. Did you say something?”_ _

__Dean hesitates. “Christo?” he asks, with a semi-charming smile._ _

__“I-- I didn’t, I didn’t…”_ _

__“Yeah, nothing. Never mind.” Dean walks back to his seat, side-eyeing Sam and Gabriel to make sure that they’re decent before he takes his seat once more. “Alright, well, she’s got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet.”_ _

__“You said ‘Christo’?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Dean says._ _

__“And?”_ _

__“There’s no demon in her. There’s no demon getting in her,” Dean says. He buckles himself in with a click._ _

__“So, if it’s on the plane, it can be anyone. Anywhere,” Sam says, a little paranoid._ _

__The plane shakes. Dean looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Come on! That can’t be normal!”_ _

__Gabriel snorts with laughter._ _

__“Hey, hey, it’s just a little turbulence,” Sam soothes._ _

__“Sam, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treatin’ me like I’m friggin’ four.”_ _

__“You need to calm down,” Sam says._ _

__“Well, I’m sorry I can’t.”_ _

__“Yes, you can,” Sam continues, his voice getting that soothing quality to it once more._ _

__“Dude, stow the touchy-feely, self-help yoga crap. It’s not helping!” Dean hisses._ _

__“Listen, if you’re panicked, you’re wide open to demonic possession, so you need to calm yourself down. Right now.” Sam’s voice has picked up the authoritative tone it can get sometimes as he commands Dean to get his shit together._ _

__Gabriel leans against Sam’s shoulder. “Oh, whenever you talk like that, I get all--”_ _

__“I can’t relax if he’s gonna be like that,” Dean says, sending Gabriel a glare._ _

__“Gabe,” Sam says._ _

__Gabriel shrugs._ _

__Dean takes a long, slow breath._ _

__“Good,” Sam says. “Now, I found an exorcism in here that I think is gonna work. The Rituale Romanum.”_ _

__“What do we have to do?” Dean asks._ _

__“It’s two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim’s body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful.”_ _

__“More powerful?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised._ _

__“Yeah,” Sam says._ _

__“How?”_ _

__“Well, it doesn’t need to possess someone anymore. It can just wreak havoc on its own.”_ _

__“Oh,” Dean says. “And why is that a good thing?”_ _

__“Well, because the second part sends the bastard back to hell once and for all.”_ _

__“First things first, we gotta find it.” Dean takes his busted-up walkman from his bag, walking slowly up the aisle with it, waving it around, getting odd looks but no readings. Sam suddenly claps him on the shoulder. Dean jumps. “Ah! Don’t do that.”_ _

__“Anything?” Sam asks._ _

__“No, nothin’. How much time we got?” Dean asks._ _

__“Fifteen minutes. Maybe we missed somebody,” Sam suggests._ _

__Gabriel stares at the door to the bathroom in the back of the plane._ _

__“Maybe the thing’s just not on the plane,” Dean says._ _

__“No, he’s here,” Gabriel says, eyes still fixed on the bathroom door._ _

__Dean looks down as the EMF meter spikes, making that whining sound. The copilot exits the bathroom and heads towards the cockpit._ _

__“Christo,” Dean says._ _

__The copilot flinches and turns slowly to face them, eyes black. He pays the most attention to Gabriel, then looks at Sam. Then he goes into the cockpit, closing the door behind him._ _

__“Jesus,” Dean says._ _

__“How did you know?” Sam asks Gabriel._ _

__“It’s the soul,” Gabriel says. “Garbled and warped. Gross.” He looks at Sam, as if washing the bad taste from his mouth and reaches out for his hand. “There. All better. Now, let’s smite this son of a bitch.”_ _

__They walk down the aisle, heading to the back of the plane towards Amanda._ _

__“She’s not gonna believe this,” Sam says._ _

__“Twelve minutes, dude,” Dean reminds him._ _

__“Oh, hi,” Amanda says. “Flight’s not too bumpy for you, I hope,” she says, pleasant as ever._ _

__“Actually, that’s kinda what we need to talk to you about,” Dean says._ _

__Sam closes the curtain._ _

__“Um, okay. What can I do for you?”_ _

__“Alright, this’s gonna sound nuts, but we just don’t have time for the whole ‘the truth is out there’ speech right now--”_ _

__“It’s not that good of a speech,” Gabriel adds._ _

__“Alright, look, we know you were on flight 2485,” Sam says._ _

__Amanda’s smile disappears and she looks at the men suspiciously. “Who are you guys?”_ _

__“Now, we’ve spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn’t a mechanical failure,” Sam says._ _

__“We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Here. Now.”_ _

__“I’m sorry, I-- I’m very busy. I have to go back--” Amanda tries to brush past Dean, but he stops her._ _

__“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean says. “Wait a second. I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? But listen to me, uh… The pilot in 2485, Chuck Lambert. He’s dead.”_ _

__Amanda goes pale and shakes her head in disbelief. “Wait. What? What, Chuck is dead?”_ _

__“He died in a plane crash,” Dean says, matter-of-factly. “Now that’s two plane crashes in two months. That doesn’t strike you as strange?”_ _

__“I--”_ _

__“Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn’t. But there’s something wrong with this flight, too,” Sam says._ _

__“Amanda, you have to believe us,” Dean says._ _

__Amanda looks at them, wide-eyed, then looks away. “On…” she rubs her temple, “on 2485, there was this man,” she begins, speaking slowly. “He… had these eyes.”_ _

__“Completely black? Like the night sky?” Gabriel asks._ _

__Amanda looks at him, strangely. “Exactly. Who-- Who _are_ you?”_ _

__“That’s exactly what we’re talking about,” Sam says._ _

__“I don’t understand. What are you asking me to do?” Amanda asks._ _

__“The copilot, we need you to bring him back here,” Dean says._ _

__“Why?” Amanda asks. “What does he have to do with anything?”_ _

__“We don’t have a whole lotta time,” Gabriel says. “We just gotta talk to ‘im. Yeah?”_ _

__“How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot--”_ _

__“Do whatever it takes,” Sam begs, words rushed. “Do whatever it takes. Tell him there’s something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit.”_ _

__“Do you know that I could lose my job if you--”_ _

__“Amanda, you’re gonna lose it all if you don’t help us out here,” Gabriel says._ _

__Amanda hesitates. “Okay,” she says, at last, quietly. She leaves and goes to the cockpit, knocking on the door and saying something to the copilot to get him to follow her back. Dean takes John’s journal from his pocket and hands it to Sam, who opens it._ _

__Amands leads the copilot down the aisle way, to the back of the plane._ _

__“Yeah, what’s the problem?” the copilot asks, walking through the curtain.._ _

__Dean punches him in the face, knocking him down, then pins him and puts duct tape over his mouth._ _

__“Wait. What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him,” Amanda protests._ _

__“Oh, we _are_ gonna talk to ‘im, trust us,” Gabriel says._ _

__Dean splashes holy water on his skin, sizzling and burning the flesh when it makes contact. Smoke rises from his torso._ _

__“Oh, my god!” Amanda says. “What’s wrong with him?”_ _

__“Look,” Sam says. “We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain.”_ _

__“Well, I don’t underst-- I don’t know--”_ _

__“Don’t let anyone in, capiche?” Gabriel asks._ _

__“Can you do that? Amanda?” Sam asks, softer and gentler than Gabriel._ _

__“Okay,” Amanda says. “Okay.” She rushes out the curtain._ _

__“Hurry up, Sam,” Dean says, wrestling with the flailing copilot. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold him.”_ _

__Sam reads off the page of John’s journal, his Latin so good it sounds like he was created to speak it. “Regna tarre, cantate Deo, psallite Domino--”_ _

__The demon breaks free of Dean’s hold, smacking the bottle of holy water from Dean’s hand and thrashing at the three of them until Dean subdues him once more and Sam picks up where he left off. The demon thrashes again, knocking Dean off him and pulling the tape of his own mouth, grabbing Sam by the collar._ _

__“I know what would’ve happened to your boyfriend!” he says in a terrible, warped voice full of glee. He looks over at Gabriel, grinning in a way best described as _demonic_. “You’re going to die screaming! You’re going to burn!” The demon looks back at Sam. “Just like your mother!”_ _

__Sam stares at the demon, stunned, mouth open._ _

__Dean scrambles up. “Sam!”_ _

__Sam looks at Gabriel, then shakes his head and begins reading again, putting the book down to help Dean handle the demon._ _

__“I got him!” Sam yells._ _

__The demon kicks the book up the aisle. It exits the copilot’s body in a thick column of black smoke and disappears into a vent._ _

__“Where’d it go?” Sam asks._ _

__“It’s in the plane. Hurry up. We got to finish it,” Dean says._ _

__The plane dips, heaves violently against the sky, as though it was in a heavy storm. Sam struggles to find the book, crawling on the ground, while Dean presses himself against the exit door, screaming in fear._ _

__Gabriel snaps his fingers, the journal appearing in his hands, and tosses it over to Sam. Sam opens it up to the page containing the exorcism, reading the rest of it in a frantic yell while he fights against the bucking plane._ _

__A flash of lightning runs through the plane, which stops fighting the sky, leveling out._ _

__As people ask each other if they’re okay, Amanda sighs in relief. Dean looks around before coming out from behind the curtain, looking shaken. Sam stands on unsteady legs, holding the journal, and wraps his arms around Gabriel when he flings himself into Sam’s arms._ _

__-_ _

__The shaken passengers from the flight disembark into an area milling with agents in different uniforms, from paramedics to the FBI to the FAA and everything in between. The copilot is in a wheelchair, blanket wrapped around him, as he’s questioned by an FAA agent._ _

__“Sir,” the agent says, “can you tell me what happened?”_ _

__“I don’t know,” the copilot replies. “I was walking through the airport, then it all goes blank. I don’t even remember getting on the plane.”_ _

__Amanda is being questioned by an FBI agent._ _

__“Anything else?” the FBI agent asks._ _

__“No, that’s all,” Amanda replies._ _

__Amanda sees Gabriel and the Winchesters standing across the way and mouths _thank you_ to them. They nod._ _

__“Let’s get out of here,” Dean says, leading them to the exit. “You okay?”_ _

__Sam stops and turns, looking at the terminal they just exited from. “Dean, it knew about Yellow-Eyes. It knew about mom. It knew about Gabriel.”_ _

__“Sam, these things… they-- they read minds. They lie. Alright? That’s all it was.”_ _

__“No,” Gabriel says, shaking his head. “He looked at me, and I felt it in my _soul_. They know about you two, down there.”_ _

__Dean scratches his head. “We’re gonna have to look into it.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Sam says, blankly. Gabriel takes his hand and presses a kiss against the back of it._ _

__“Come on,” Gabriel suggests._ _

__-_ _

__The Winchesters and Gabriel stand outside Jerry’s warehouse with Jerry, right next to the Impala. In the light of day and safely on the ground, Dean doesn’t look nearly as terrified._ _

__“Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed.” Jerry shakes their hands. “Your dad’s gonna be real proud,” he says._ _

__“We’ll see you around, Jerry,” Sam says._ _

__Dean begins to walk around the front of the Impala, then stops. “You know, Jerry,” he says, casually._ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__“I meant to ask you: how did you get my cell phone number, anyway? I’ve only had it for, like, six months.”_ _

__“Your dad gave it to me,” Jerry says._ _

__“What?” Sam asks._ _

__“When did you talk to him?” Dean asks._ _

__“I mean, I didn’t exactly talk to him, but I called his number,” Jerry says. “His voice message said to give you a call. Thanks again, guys.” Jerry leaves for the warehouse once more._ _

__A plane flies overhead, the bright red maple leaf emblazoned on the tail shining in the light. Dean sits on the far edge of the Impala’s trunk, Sam right next to him, and Gabriel next to him._ _

__“This doesn’t make any sense, man. I’ve called Dad’s number like fifty times. It’s been out of service,” Sam says._ _

__“Unless it’s not anymore,” Gabriel suggests._ _

__Dean dials a number on his cell phone. He turns up the sound so Sam and Gabriel can hear the voice message, too, and leans over to them._ _

__“This is John Winchester,” John’s voice says. “I can’t be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help.”_ _

__Sam’s hand tightens where it’s holding Gabriel’s, fuming silently. He and Gabriel get into the backseat of the Impala. Dean follows, getting behind the wheel and driving off._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's been a while. Things have been super weird, what with all the online classes and social distancing. So take a break from the virus with some good old Sabriel! There's nothing better than reading a nice, gay fanfic to really make you feel like you've had meaningful human interaction today!
> 
> (I am in great pain. Please help.)
> 
> If y'all have any suggestions for what you'd like to see or have anything to say about the series, I would love to hear about it in the comments!


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